


Redenzione

by synnths



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Backstory, Child Abuse, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mute Neopolitan (RWBY), Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synnths/pseuds/synnths
Summary: Following the attack on Haven, General Ironwood enlists the help of the man who was once Vale's most wanted in order to protect Atlas. His help, however, comes with a price.





	1. Burning the Candle

When he wasn’t asleep, all he had to keep himself busy was watching the tension in his wrists and knuckles as his fists clenched and unclenched. Blue veins ran below pallor skin, fading up his arm. Bright freckles coated his body like paint splatter on a canvas, ginger hairs that ran along even the deepest of scars pale to the point of near invisibility. Deep emerald iris was blank, lids pulled back until the sting of the air threatened tears. He could still feel the restrictive binds of a straitjacket removed the week prior, forced upon him when visions of his dear wife, drifting away into the endless void of the Grimm-infested night sky became too much to bear, leading to additions to his collection of scars around his body. Time was like an illusion to him—deprived of a day, month, year and met with only silence when his weak voice asked the latest guard sent to patrol the block, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed since the fall of Beacon, since he watched his love careen off the deck of the airship, since he was devoured by a Griffon attached to his destructive anguish.

Since he tore his way out of the beast engulfed in flames, since he was found battered and beaten by Ironwood’s men, since he was taken into the Atlesian military’s custody and thrown into solitary confinement after his injuries healed.

When the realization that he would never be free with his dear, sweet Neopolitan again hit, his voice refused to cooperate once more, forcing him into silence out of the ordinary for a typically charismatic and talkative individual such as himself. When the voice in the back of his head telling him to wipe himself off the map stopped speaking, his thoughts wandered to the outside world. He wondered where his beloved ended up, if she even survived that night. He prayed for her safety, that she found a life suitable for an angel disguised as a beautiful human like her. He loved her with every little centimeter of his being, so much so that it _ached,_ but he hoped she’d managed to find a love that could treat her far better than he ever did. No matter what, he didn’t want to involve her in Cinder’s illusive schemes, but she thrust herself into the plans without a moment’s hesitation, telling him with teary eyes and shaking hands that they would _always_ be partners in crime.

What a joke of a partner he was.

With consciousness in a seemingly permanent state of drifting, the sound of a collective of footsteps approaching his cell fell upon deaf ears, but the scraping of metal as the door slid open startled him back into reality. Head slowly raised to the man in the doorway: James Ironwood. A dominating figure, standing with arms behind his back and a posse of guards at his sides. He had to squint, taking in the unusually _scruffy_ sight of the esteemed General, as well as the apparent change in uniform. Stepping back, two of Ironwood’s men entered the cramped cell, hauling the former crime lord up to his feet while shackling his wrists. He gave no thoughts, no questions about why he was suddenly being ushered out of his cell and pushed along behind the General as he walked the winding halls of the prison, only quietly and blankly staring ahead until their destination, a secluded room, lit up by a single dim light bulb, with nothing but a table and one chair on each side inside, was reached.

Upon being forced into one of the chairs, he gave a puzzled look to Ironwood, who took residence in the chair across his. Ironwood leaned forward, gloved hands folding on the table. A breath, steady and calm, was taken before he spoke. “ It’s been quite a while, has it not? “ A rhetorical question was uttered, followed by the answer the secluded criminal craved. “ Two years, to be specific. “ Green eye widened, and he’d never been more grateful for his inability to properly grow facial hair aside from the light dusting of ginger that blended in with the reddish undertones of his skin. Ironwood took note of his silence and cleared his throat as a folder of papers was taken into his grasp. He opened the folder and procured a single, small picture, which he then slid to the other side of the table. A sharp inhale was taken when he began to digest the photo before him.

It was a little boy in what seemed to be a school photo. Chubby cheeks, hopeful eyes, and a toothy smile helped accentuate the freckles that peppered his pale face. Orange locks, scruffy and bright, sprouted from his scalp, reaching just below his ears with fringes dusting over his brow. Gaze, littered with panic and confusion, rose to the General as he skimmed across the documents in his hands.

“ Twenty-two years ago, an airplane departed from Atlas, and crashed off the coast of Vale. “ Ironwood recited, coal-colored irises glued to the papers. Tension thickened the air to the point of suffocation, but the General continued his spiel. “ Out of the one-hundred and two passengers, the bodies of only one-hundred and one were found and identified. One eight-year-old Romeo Candlewick was never accounted for. “ Setting the papers back down in the folder, his eyes rose to see the stiff, wide-eyed form of one thirty-year-old Roman Torchwick, and though the answer he sought was written all over the felon’s features, Ironwood had to ask.

“ That little boy is _you,_ isn’t he? “

Roman was completely silent, front teeth tearing into his bottom lip as weary eye shut. Lips parted, vocal cords beginning to strain for the first time in longer than he could remember to utter a response. With a quirked brow, Ironwood learned forward slightly, trying to understand the man’s incomprehensible vocalizations. Finally, a coherent response was uttered.

“ …And… what if it _is…?_ “ The larger man gave a sigh.

“ What led you _astray,_ Rome— "

“ NEVER. Call me that again. “ Hoarse voice demanded, threatening enough to provoke Ironwood’s men to press their firearms to his temples. A hand raised from the General was enough to dismiss the soldiers, at least from threatening the felon’s life. Ironwood, unfazed by Roman’s outburst, continued to press on.

“ Why resort to the life you led in Vale? Could you not have sought _help?_ “ He could see the anger creeping upon pale features, evident by a downcast head and grit teeth. Had Roman not been handcuffed and watched with intent to kill, he may have felt inclined to attempt to rip Ironwood’s remaining flesh to shreds.

“ Don’t you think I _tried?_ “ Roman retorted, refusing to revisit the dark eyes of Ironwood, and instead choosing to gaze down to his lap. Oh, how he desperately tried to seek help, but the disheveled little boy, caked in dirt and blood, was chalked up to nothing more than a mere street rat and left to rot in the bowels of a city foreign to his fragile little soul.  “ No one gave a _damn_ about me, so I survived my own way. I’ve _always_ survived my own way. “ And if it wasn’t for the newest Fall Maiden, he would have continued to survive his own way, with the ever-so-faithful Neo by his side every step of the way. Breath hitched at the _thought_ of his wife, silencing incensed vocals once more. The worn eyes of Ironwood softened in something akin to _pity._

“ You had a ring on your finger, beneath your glove. “ Of course he had to go there. Roman couldn’t help but seethe at the gentle tone he began to don. “ You’re _married._ “

“ No shit, Sherlock. Anything else you want to point out? “

“ To whom are you betrothed? “

“ You sure do have a lot of questions, don’t you? “ Voice stalled as soon as a glimpse of Ironwood’s guards was caught, their weapons raising in slight. The man shook his head towards the soldiers.

“ In a majority of instances you’d been caught in the act of committing a crime, there was a woman with you. Small, toted around a parasol. She was the one who broke you out of your cell aboard the airship, was she not? “ Roman fell silent, chest moving with unsteady breaths. “ Was this woman your wife? “ The former criminal couldn’t stand being backed into a corner like this, pressured to spill what he’d once sealed behind sewn lips. Ironwood couldn’t help but notice, through the thickened silence that pierced the air, Roman’s slow, emotional decline. He squeezed his eye shut, trying to prevent leakage, but a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“ _Sh-She’s—_ " His wife, his best friend, the only thing that’s kept him going his whole _wretched_ life. From the day he first met her, to their untimely separation atop the airship, he felt invincible. As long as they were together, nothing could stop them. Nothing except a power-hungry _chess pawn_ and her impudent lackeys. Roman, kept oblivious to, _terrified_ of, the bigger picture, could do nothing but sit back and watch the life he and Neo built together with their blood, sweat, and tears slowly dissolve at the fingertips of Cinder Fall. He was a man of very few regrets, but ever allowing himself to get involved with the woman, despite how little control he actually had over the situation, was perhaps his biggest mistake of all.

But he could never express his anguish to Neo. No matter how hard she pressed on and tried to get him to open up to her, Roman could never be truthful with her. He knew she was hurting just as much as he was, and the last thing he wanted was to put more weight on her shoulders. She’d always been so much _stronger_ than him, whether it be physically or emotionally. They both had scars and pain that they lived with each and every day of their lives, but Neo never let her mental state inhibit her. She was a cold-blooded assassin, a ballerina of death, a natural-born intimidator, and the demon you see in the corner of your room during a bout of sleep paralysis. She had no room for her thoughts, however intrusive or traumatic they may be, on the battlefield, and she wore her strength with pride.

Roman, on the other hand, had a limit to the wall he could put up. While he was skilled at masking himself as a sophisticated gentleman of a thief, the nights where he sobbed in Neo’s arms about the past, present, and future outweighed the nights he slept soundly. The days where he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the tempting sights of a bottle of scotch or a container of pills seemed endless. Cigars, originally for show, became objects of necessity. Without the gentle love of his dear Neo, Roman was sure he would have whisked himself down the River Styx long ago. He couldn’t just _abandon_ her—he knew better than to trust her with herself.

Ironwood sighed, arms crossing. The answer to his prying was obvious, written word-for-word across the freckled features of what was once Vale’s most wanted. Attention diverted back to the pile of papers, fingers skimming across edges before a single document was procured and set before the inmate. Another tear streamed down Roman’s cheek as he opened his eye to examine the sheet. Lips parted as if to speak, but before sound could be produced, he silenced himself and raised his head to look into Ironwood’s eyes.

“ Just recently, an attack on Haven Academy was led by Salem’s forces. “ Roman had only heard of Salem a handful of times, his position as Cinder’s _toy_ never enough to land him a front row seat for the impending apocalypse at the hands of the Maiden’s superior. All he knew was that Cinder was _not_ the warlord, but rather, the messenger pigeon, sent to deliver the warning shot. It almost _scared_ Roman to think of a power more forceful, more _destructive_ than Fall.

“ We got lucky in that casualties— “ Let it be know that he was _right_ to suspect Lionheart, “ —were rather _miniscule,_ all things considered, but we have reason to believe Atlas Academy may be next. “ Roman’s brow furrowed, a soft sniffle given while composure was slowly pieced back together.

“ Is there a point to this, or are you practicing your skills as a newscaster? ‘Cause, I’ve gotta say, you’re not doing a very good j— “

“ You still hold information that could be incredibly beneficial not only for the military and the academy, but the entire _kingdom_ as well. “ Roman nearly choked on his own saliva. He should have known there was a catch to all this. However, before he could be given a chance to speak, Ironwood continued. “ I’m willing to exchange _whatever I have to_ in order to protect this kingdom. “ Roman could tell through his eyes—he was _begging._ He blamed himself for the fall of Beacon, and feared for the safety of his _own_ academy. Slowly, _cautiously,_ Roman began to speak.

“ ...You’re willing to trade _anything?_ “

“ Anything. “

Immediately, Roman expressed his desires, voice lowering in guttural fortitude. “ Help me find my wife. Drop each and every charge brought against us, and let us be _free._ “

Silence hung thick in the air, broken only by a deep sigh from Ironwood. “ ...Alright. “ Roman’s eye widened in disbelief— “ _But,_ on one condition. “ The ginger frowned. _Of course._

“ You can’t be guaranteed _absolute_ freedom. I have no control over the charges you face in other kingdoms. Seeing how you’re _native_ to Atlas, extradition from the kingdom is not an option. I can assure your safety and freedom _here,_ but your wife— “

“ Neo has _nothing._ “ Abruptly, Roman interrupted. Ironwood quirked a brow. “ No charges in _any_ kingdom, no home—Hell, I’m not even sure if a _birth certificate_ for her exists. “

If Ironwood hadn’t known any better, he would have displayed the shock he felt. “ What, exactly, do you mean? “

Truthfully, Roman felt a bit guilty, spilling Neo’s story—or rather, _lack thereof_ —without her consent. However, if such information could guarantee her freedom, as well, he wouldn't dare hesitate. He would apologize later, surely. “ Neo doesn’t know a damn thing about herself, and neither does anyone else we’ve come across. _Neopolitan_ isn’t even her real name—it’s a name we gave to her just so she could have one. Apparently, her memory doesn’t even kick in until a year or two before we met. “ He explained, tone soft, almost _meek._ “ It would always scare her to think about, so she just… never gave it any thought. She’d say her home is wherever I am, and that the rest didn’t matter to her. “

Stroking his chin in contemplation, Ironwood glanced back down to the papers in front of him. He knew of the existence of a sidekick from the different reports he’d reviewed before, during, and after Roman’s first Atlesian arrest, but no information had ever been given about her other than a brief description of her appearance and what _might_ have been her Semblance. He eventually came to the conclusion that she most likely worked from the shadows, given her lack of direct involvement, but the lack of data forbade any further hypothesizing. “ ...You’re _sure_ she wasn’t lying to you? That she wasn’t trying to _hide_ something? “

“ Positive. “ Roman pauses for a moment, brow furrowing in thought. “ I... _do_ know that certain things would give her the jitters without any rhyme or reason. Talking about fathers, for example. I don’t know why, but just the _word_ would freak her out, even if she was damn good at hiding it. And—when we were kids, I remember she was attached to one specific street in the city. I can’t recall which one it was, but before she started with the ‘you’re my home’ shit, she’d call _that_ her home. “

Closing his eyes, Ironwood gave a sigh. “ I’ll... see what I can do. Her lack of an identity will make things rather _difficult,_ but… Until further notice, I can bend the rules a bit— _just this once!_ —and allow her to be assumed Atlesian, as well. “ Roman could have cried right then and there, had Ironwood not cleared his throat and continued. “ To put things simply, I won’t allow you to leave this kingdom as a whole. You will be routinely _monitored_ to ensure your behavior, and if you so much as take one step out of line, I will not hesitate to strike you down with my own hand. Do we have a deal? “

Roman was silent for a moment, trying to process the terms given to him. He… hadn’t expected Ironwood to be so cooperative. Though, he was sure the sentiment was shared. Roman himself hadn’t exactly been the most _helpful_ individual during their first encounter, though more out of obligation than anything. He could only _imagine_ his punishment for failure. A click of his tongue was given, before voice returned. “ ...Isn’t there some kind of committee or council or _something_ you need to run these things by? “

Ironwood gave the softest of chuckles. “ _That_ is none of your concern, I’m afraid. “

Hesitant to agree, Roman pressed his lips together, looking down to ponder. Would this… _truly_ be freedom? They could never be alone—constant monitoring, permanent confinements to the kingdom he once called _home…_ How would Neo react to these terms? Should he agree, he would be forcing her into these restrictions with him. She was an adventurous soul who craved the _thrill_ her occupation brought her like life support—would she be able to function in such tight bindings? No matter how much he loved her, he couldn’t strip away her happiness just spend the rest of his days with her.

...On the other hand, he thinks back to the planning phase, where the inner mechanisms of his plotted arrest were schemed. Once the demanding presence of Cinder left the vicinity, Roman and Neo plotted behind her back, bending the plan to their will. Roman would be arrested, and Neo would come to his rescue. Such was decided in Cinder’s presence. Their own plot, on the other hand, differed from Cinder’s in one crucial way—the outcome. Fall demanded they bring the airship back to her and her lackeys to make their escape. However, behind closed doors, the couple decided they would steal the airship for _themselves_ and escape from the chaos. They could start anew somewhere else, abandon their life of danger and crime, and live out the rest of their days peacefully.

_Peacefully._

Roman took a deep breath, before his single iris rose to meet Ironwood’s gaze. Slowly, an affirmative nod was given.

“ Deal. “

Ironwood couldn’t mask the gratification prickling the corners of his lips. Head turned to glance towards the soldiers still standing guard. “ Go ahead and uncuff him. “ Footsteps rang between walls as two armored men approached the prisoner, hands snaking to release him from his shackles. Roman gave a subtle sigh of relief, rolling his wrists and stretching out his hands to regain circulation. Ironwood soon extended his own hand— _flesh_ —to the other man. Roman couldn’t help but give a suspicious glance to his appendage, but soon shook his head in an attempt to push back his doubts.

“ I’m glad we could reach an agreement. “ Ironwood mused. As much as he hated to admit it, Roman found himself _grateful_ for the opportunity. No longer would he lay in a cramped cell, wistfully daydreaming of a future he and Neo could have shared while picking away at the scars around his body just to feel _something._ A reason to live, to wake up and inhale the toxic smog as if it were the scent of _daisies_ had found its way back to the hollow shell of a gentleman thief. Though not keen on returning to his Atlesian roots, he knew things would be fine, as long as he could be with _her._ Her smile, her silent and breathy laughter, the way her irises would change colors like mood rings, the sense of warmth and comfort he felt whenever she was by his side…

Roman reached out and gave Ironwood’s hand a firm shake, a smirk spreading across his lips.

“ Ditto. “

Fate was a cruel, _cruel_ mistress.


	2. Players and Pieces

“ Have I ever told you how beautiful you are? “

With a voice gentle as the rising sun glistening off a running stream of water, calloused hand reaching out to push pink tresses behind her ear, she couldn’t help but giggle, small and breathy. He knew how much she loved his affectionate side—it made up for the lack of her own self worth. A woman who carried herself with strength and pride, but hid her trauma and crippling doubts beneath polite smiles and curtseys. Her pain was never shown, any shred of weakness too feeble for the naked eye to see. Emotions were unnecessary for elegant assassins such as herself, but the man who laid in bed beside her, who wore the ring complementary to her own, begged to differ.

Roman had a knack for seeing right through her. He could read her like a book, memorize each and every line, and recite it all verbatim. Of course, the understanding went both ways. She, too, knew all his ridges and imperfections, but to her, those were what made him the poster child of _perfection,_ despite how facetious a concept like perfection truly was.

It was comforting, in a sense, to know that she didn’t need words in order to convey how she truly felt, but it was also a burden.

Every now and then, a hint of vocals would rip through her throat, but not without a terrible burning sensation to accompany it. Roman would always scold her for hurting herself in his own tender way, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help feeling there was something _wrong_ with herself. Though she could never recall a time where she had a voice, she just _knew_ her muteness wasn’t natural. She’d come to consider it an injury of sorts, despite no visible markings ever indicating a slit throat or chokehold or the likes. Perhaps it was internal. She tended not to dwell on the past too much—thinking of a life she could no longer remember made her feel sick to her stomach. Though she truly feared very little, she found dread in the unknown. Neopolitan surely wasn’t her real name, though she’d rather consider it so. It felt so _natural_ to her, given the thick, tri-colored locks sprouting from her scalp, but almost _too_ natural to be true. She couldn’t recall even a _single_ parental figure in her life, nor a home, birthday, or age. She was just… Neo.

But Roman wouldn’t have her any other way.

“ _You could stand to mention it again._ “ She spoke with dainty hands and fingers, drawing soft laughter from Roman. Leaning closer to his wife, he brushed mismatched fringes from her forehead to place a kiss against alabaster skin. Lips pulled back in a wide smile with his hot breath beating against her complexion as he repeated himself in a whisper,

“ You’re beautiful. “

As he pulled back, dainty hands extended to run through side-swept ginger. Through the gaps between strands, a nasty scar running vertically from brow to cheekbone across hidden, shut eye gained visibility. Roman hated the marking with a _passion,_ and when he found bandages to be too much of a hassle, he began to style his hair to cover it. It was nothing but a reminder of his own flaws and failures, and there was nothing he despised more than his imperfections. Neo knew very well of his contemptment towards his own humanity, feeling the same was towards _herself,_ but she still loved him all the same. She loved his flaws and failures, adored his imperfections and humanity, and not a day went by where she wouldn’t try to convey the sentiment in her own voiceless way. Lifting his extensive fringes up, Neo leaned forward to press gentle kisses along the length of his scar. He couldn’t help but lightly cringe, the decade-old blemish often still throbbing and stinging as though the blade of the vexed adversary had just then plunged through his eye, but solace was found in the company of his spouse, forever bound by gleaming jewelry adorned on their fingers and a mutual passion that burned brighter than any flame.

Roman’s arms wrapped around the woman, holding her in a warm, gentle embrace with a lax grin spread across his lips. “ You’re awful affectionate tonight. What’s the occasion? “ Gentleman thief teased, shifting as Neo moved to bring her hands into visibility.

“ _Do I_ **_need_ ** _a reason to love you?_ “ Roman had to laugh at the quirked brow and crooked smirk she gave.

Sign language, as soon as the two became aware of its existence, was something they learned together as a couple of unkempt preteens. Neo was ecstatic at the prospect of never having to write or play charades in order to communicate with Roman again, and Roman was just happy _she_ was happy. He had to admit, however, signing worked _wonders_ for secretive communication.

Lowering his head, he gave little nibbles to her neck, ginger tresses gliding over her skin. His voice lowered, quiet and husky. “ Nope, I guess not. “ She squirmed beneath his touch, raspy giggles escaping, giving Roman a sign that he hit the _jackpot._ A Cheshire smile spread from ear to ear as he continued pressing quick kisses and giving gentle nips, pulled away only by the dainty hands of his wife tugging at his hair. “ Ow! _Ow, ow, ow, ow—_ “ He chanted, silenced only by the relief of freedom when Neo let go of him to give a light, yet still forceful kick to his stomach. Roman groaned through sadistic laughter upon impact, and Neo turned to her other side with her arms crossed and a feigned pout. He knew just how much she hated being tickled, but he _loved_ it when she laughed, no matter how quiet or strained it was.

“ Neoooo! “ He called to her as though she were drifting away from him as he spoke. Though he couldn’t see the fight she put up trying to keep a straight face, he could tell by the way her shoulders shook that she wasn’t anywhere _close_ to being serious in her brooding. “ I’m sorry, I swear! Please, don’t be mad at me! “ Upon the expulsion of throaty cackles, Roman pulled himself beside her, wrapping his arms around her form in a sloppy hug. He gave soft kisses to her cheek, feeling the gentle creases of her skin with her smile. Soon enough, she finally rolled over, giving in to the temptation of his warm cuddles. Pressing her head against his chest, she closed her eyes, a gentle smile gracing her features. With a chuckle, one hand moved to entangle fingers in neapolitan tresses while the other remained stagnated in the middle of her back. Closing his own eye, he gave a small sigh.

“ It’s getting late, isn’t it? “ He mused delicately, beginning to gently rub Neo’s back. “ We ought to get some re— ” Silenced by a single, lithe finger against his lips, he stifled a chuckle and grinned, reaching down only to pull the blankets over their bodies before drifting to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“ So. “

Leaning against the wall of the airship with folded arms, a single eye—pink—opened, glancing up to the Fall Maiden at the opposite end of the vessel. Turning her head away from the window, she looked towards the smaller woman with a hand on her hip. Though not a woman of much care towards life outside her own, Cinder found herself burning from head to toe in curiosity about her subordinate. In the time she spent puppeteering Roman’s every move, she only learned a handful of things about the little woman who trailed behind him like a lost puppy. Armed and dangerous, bloodthirsty and sadistic, elegant and skilled, but also scheming and silent, with defiance against the Maiden’s forces branded in dynamic irises.

She cast herself as a pretty little serial killer without a conscience, or even a _soul,_ but Cinder saw otherwise.

She could see the way Neo bit her thumb in resentment when delicate fingers brushed along Roman’s jawline, shushing his animosity towards being kept in the dark with vague warnings and pungent reassurance. She could practically _feel_ the woman’s blade pressed against her neck each and every time she ordered Roman around like the _slave_ he was. There was a dedication to each and every thing Neo did on his behalf, and a sorrow unlike any other when her parasol lifted to reveal tattered clothing and his bowler cap atop her head. She was still grieving, and may possibly never _stop,_ but Cinder had done the impossible and won her over.

And once Ruby Rose’s blood is shed and Neopolitan has served her purpose, Cinder will _graciously_ reunite the lost lovers in death.

A gentle cock of her head is given. “ After Beacon fell, you disappeared. Surely, you couldn’t have been hunting me down that entire time, could you? “ Cinder had to stifle mocking laughter through a collected face, nearly scoffing at the idea of two years wasted trying to search Remnant for the object of her revenge.

~~_But, Cinder, isn’t that what you’re doing?_ **Shut up.** ~~

Lowering herself to the floor to sit on her bottom, Neo soon hugged her knees to her chest, staring down to her feet with blank eyes. Met with silence from both vocals and hands, Cinder sighed, sauntering before her associate with folded arms. She could see the struggle with inner demons displayed across soft features, a struggle she knew _far_ too well. Dropping to one knee, human hand extended to cup around Neo’s chin, tilting her head up to meet her gaze. The Fall Maiden frowned, fabricating a look of sympathy. “ I have heard… “ Neo wanted to retaliate against her touch, to slap her hand away or cut it off or anything to give her the satisfaction of at least _harming_ Fall. She relented, however, wordlessly reminding herself of her place under Cinder’s thumb. “ ...That you know not who you _truly_ are. You lack an identity—just a flimsy structure built under Roman’s guide. “ Though Neo looked away with a scowl, she couldn’t argue otherwise. Roman gave her _everything,_ even if he preferred to think of it as a joint effort.

“ You still hold contempt against me. “ That one, Neo couldn’t deny, either. Though blame fell upon Ruby’s shoulders as the last person to see Roman alive, none of this would have happened if Cinder hadn’t brought them into her plans in the first place. A light jerk of her hand ushers Neo to resume eye contact, brow furrowing. Cinder shook her head. “ I don’t expect you to forgive me for my actions, or follow my lead in the manner of my disciples. “ She continued, slowly freeing Neo from her grasp and retracting her hand. A grin, crooked and reeking of dishonesty, spread.

“ I do believe, however, that we haven’t discussed your manner of payment. “

Neo’s eyes widened, body tensing while she held her legs tighter. _Payment?_ She was under the assumption that the pleasure of killing Red would have been enough profitable enough. Cinder, however, spoke otherwise. “ For your aid, I will help you find yourself. Your name, birth date, age, whatever else you wish. No longer will you be pitiful little _Neopolitan—_ you will be able to reclaim what is yours. All I ask is that you keep loyal in this endeavor, but I’m _sure_ that won’t be an issue. “ She could hear the derisive tone of Cinder’s voice, how she looked down to her like a _child._ Ire could be expressed only through clenched fists, but beneath her anger was the desire to believe the Fall Maiden’s words. She never actively sought her true identity, accepting the one Roman gifted her as though it were the one she was born with, but… What if there was someone out there who _searched_ for her? Someone who once loved her and cared for her, only to have her disappear from their sights for a good twenty years? She could have had a mother or father, sisters or brothers, even _friends,_ or anyone at all who could have grieved because she wasn’t there.

On the other hand, however, she’d always had a sneaking suspicion that she was better off not knowing a thing about herself. There was too much that needed to be explained—what could have caused her muteness? Why did she feel so _sick_ at the mention of fathers? Why did surviving through crime come so naturally to her as a small, weak, _defenseless_ little girl? The thought of discovering all that was, all that _is_ shook her to the core, but with the fiery amber of Cinder’s eye staring right through her, observing her inner turmoil and studying her weaknesses, taking note of her self doubt and self hatred and each and every scar—mental _or_ physical—she inflicted upon herself in the midst of silent hysteria over _who the hell she is,_ demanded an answer. Was this the reward she deserved for her hard work? Or was this her punishment for not being good enough, for not living up to Cinder’s standards, _for not saving Roman?_

A moment, far too long yet far too _short,_ of stillness and silence hung thick between the two women, before a slow nod of Neo’s head was given. There was only one way to find out if her fears held any value or not, and if she had to use Cinder to reach her goal, she _would._

Cinder gave a smile, void of sincerity and filled to the brim with a hunger for control. She would gain Neo’s trust, bend her to her own will, and toss her out like a melted cone of the flavors her name and tresses represented.

“ I believe we have a deal, then. “

It was _perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cinder's so fuckin aWFUL i love her


	3. Rememberance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavy tws for child abuse

“ May I ask you a question? “

“ Ever since I started working with you, you’ve been doing nothing but _asking questions._ “

“ ...Ah. Of course. “

…

“ —Which is to say, go ahead, ‘cause you’re going to anyways. “

“ Ah— “ Ironwood cleared his throat, setting down the stack of papers in his grasp. His hands folded over his desk, gaze directed to the man sitting with his legs crossed in the chair before one of his office’s many windows. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, former convict having just tossed a cigarette—not a _cigar,_ mind you—out the window. “ As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? “

Roman blinked. “ _Huh?_ “

“ Your father was a Huntsman. Did you ever wish to follow in his footsteps? “

“ Fath—oh! _That_ guy! “ Ironwood quirked a brow as Roman gave empty laughter. “ Sorry, sorry—I completely forgot he even _existed._ “ The General couldn’t help but take note of the vague _bitterness_ in his tone of voice. Roman lifted a finger to wipe his exposed eye as though he were brought to _tears._

“ _Ahh…_ Yeah, _no._ That old bastard died before my memory started kicking in. I probably wanted to be, like… I dunno. An archaeologist? Dig up some old Grimm bones? _...If_ those are even a thing? “ Roman trailed off, questioning his own logic before clearing his throat, foot gently tapping against the floor. With both hands resting on Melodic Cudgel—his _baby_ , returned to him at last!—he put his chin on his hands. “ Nope—my _sister_ was the wannabe Huntress. She got into some fancy combat school and everything. She was even about to start designing her own weapon, before she got kicked out. “

Ironwood blinked a moment, before furrowing his brow. Something about that statement just _didn’t_ sit right with him. “ If I may… why was she expelled? “ Roman was silent and still for a handful of seconds, before digging out another cigarette from his pocket and lighting up. He made sure to exhale the toxins out the window, though more out of realization that one wrong move could ruin _everything_ rather than genuine consideration for the General’s health. It was in that moment that, when taking in Roman’s sour expression, James Ironwood realized he _most likely_ fucked up. Another huff and puff off the cancer stick was given before the former criminal spoke.

“ ...She started skipping to take care of me. “ His words came with a quiet, caustic chuckle, head turned away from Ironwood. He _never_ opened about his past to anyone—only Neo. Only _she_ could understand the night terrors that haunted him most nights, or the days where all he could see was his mother’s fist and the bruises on his sister’s body. He may have only just been a _boy_ when things went awry, but that didn’t stop him from blaming _himself_ for his sister’s misfortune, for her eventual demise. “ After Dad died, Mom started drinking ‘till she was passed out on the fuckin’ _floor,_ so when she wasn’t…for lack of a better word, _beating_ us, she just neglected to take care of us. So, my sister, being a few years older than me, stopped going to school to make sure I wasn’t starving or dying or anything. “

Then, Roman softly laughed. “ I-It’s funny, really—she never gave a shit about me ‘till Mom started with _her_ bullshit. She’d hold it over my head that _she_ was the planned one and _I_ was the accident, and that I’d never amount to anything ‘cause she was the star student and perfect daughter and _Gods fucking forbid_ she be anything but _perfect—_ “ Gradually running out of breath, Roman took a long inhale of air, followed by covering his mouth with his sleeve to cough. His eye was wide, as if he caught _himself_ by surprise with his ranting. His whole life, he’d done nothing but worship the very ground his sister walked on, continuing to hold her in high regards _decades_ after her death. Perhaps the years spent by his lonesome had done a thing or two to twist his point of view. He released a sigh as soon as his eye met those of the silent, yet somehow concerned General. “ _Ugh—_ sorry about that. Didn’t exactly realize I’d be venting my whole fuckin’ backstory today. “

Ironwood cleared his throat, gently loosening his tie just a bit. Perhaps he should _stop_ his prodding… “ I… apologize, for bringing up your past. “ He frowned as Roman turned his head and shrugged, taking another hit off the slowly withering cigarette between his index and middle fingers. Ash was flicked outside the window, carried into the air by the cool breeze. A single emerald iris followed it as it was blown away, a sigh soon exhaled.

“ Y’know… “ Roman began, voice low. He refused to exchange glances with Ironwood, instead propping his elbow on the windowsill and resting his chin on his hand. At this point, he would rather have _died_ than let go of the fresh air. His lips parted for a moment, before pressing to a flat line as he calculated his next words. He inhaled a small breath, before continuing. “ In a way, Cinder reminds me of my mother. “

Before Ironwood had the chance to question the statement, Roman shut the window and stretched in his seat, letting out a yawn followed by an unceremonious “ _Fuck!_ Man—y’know when you’re asleep for fucking _ages,_ and you wake up and your whole body feels like you just got run through a meat grinder? “ Ironwood blinked in surprise.

“ I… _What?_ “ Roman couldn’t help but snort, noting the General’s confusion. The former criminal sauntered to his desk, sitting atop and leaning to look at the stack of papers laying in front of Ironwood.

“ What’cha reading? “ The ginger questioned in a cheery tone, snickering as Ironwood pried the papers away before he could read any of the classified contents. Ironwood frowned, mustering a glare.

“ _Do you mind?_ “

“ Nope! “ _There’s_ the Roman Torchwick he knows. He’d almost be _relieved,_ if it weren’t for the fact that Roman was somehow getting amusement out of pressing each and every button the General has. Reaching a hand to press the middle of Roman’s back, Ironwood roughly shoved him off the desk, scowling as Roman laughed.

“ Oooh, _feisty!_ I like that in a guy. “ An exasperated hand met Ironwood’s exasperated face as he let out an exasperated sigh.

“ Aren’t you _married?_ “

“ Threesomes exist for a rea— “

“ FORGET I ASKED! “ There was no sound in the world that could come _close_ to the ear-piercing levels of Roman’s cackling. It gave Ironwood a newfound sense of sympathy for the elusive being known as Neo. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. “ In any case—I suppose _now_ would be as good a time as any to tell you we’re expecting visitors. Sooner or later, at least... “ Ironwood trailed off, to which Roman quirked a hidden brow.

“ _We’re?_ “

Ironwood nodded. “ _We’re._ “

Blink. Blink, blink. Blink. “ ...Huh. “

The General furrowed his brow. “ What? “

“ I’m just… I dunno. I think I’m still used to not knowing shit _whatsoever._ “ Slowly, Roman made his way back to his seat. “ On that note, would you mind telling me who we’re expecting, or— “

Knock, knock. Both men’s attention turned to the door, which cracked open to reveal the face of one of Ironwood’s soldiers. “ Qrow Branwen is here, sir, along with his group. “ Roman’s shoulders slumped, slowly turning his head to shoot Ironwood a deep glare.

“ Is there something you’d like to share with the class, James? “ Gods knew Ironwood _wanted_ to laugh in his face, but he was _vastly_ more sophisticated than the likes of Roman Torchwick. He, unlike the former criminal, knew how to control himself. Ironwood liked to think he’d even been doing _well_ at restraining himself, considering he hadn’t blinded Roman in his other eye just yet, _despite_ the overwhelming urge. Instead of a verbal response, Ironwood simply lifted his index finger to hush Roman up, before speaking to the man in the doorway.

“ Let them in. We have much to discuss. “ He could have swore he saw Roman pressing two fingers against his temple and pretending to shoot himself, complete with his eyes rolled upwards and tongue sticking out in the manner of a dead fish. It wasn’t until the smell of cheap whiskey filled the room that Roman’s attention returned to the doorway, where he saw the aforementioned Huntsman entering the room with a slouch and his hands stuffed in his pockets. As soon as blood-red irises caught dark emerald, however, he froze, glancing to Ironwood blankly with a finger pointed towards Roman.

“ _Uh—_ “ And suddenly, screeching. Four different girls’ screeching, at that. All heads snapped to red, white, black, and yellow standing just inside the room, whose weapons were cocked and _also_ aimed at Roman, who instinctively raised his hands in the air.

“ _UH—_ “

Ironwood groaned, once again pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

* * *

 

Her vision was blurry, clouded as if smoke had filled the room. Sitting on the floor, she glanced down to the drawings strewn across the carpet. All she could do was draw, but she could never decipher her own art. Little hands tucked away a brown crayon in the box of thirteen, soon reaching for a pink in exchange. She pulled herself closer to the single piece of paper before her. She was drawing _herself._ One side of her messy scalp was brown as chocolate, and the other would soon be pink as strawberries. She had no dominant hand, so she used her right to color brown, and her left to color pink. Bare toes wiggled in the air, trying to keep stubby, twig-thin legs awake. Her tongue poked out from between her lips, focus settling on perfecting her own image.

_Wait… was my hair_ always _that short?_

The sound of her door creaking open filled the dead air, and soon, a tall, suited figure with dark, scraggly tresses and a lit cigarette between his lips entered the room. She hauled herself to her feet and bent down to pick up one of the stray pages on the floor. She skipped to the man with a smile, holding her artwork up high for him to see. He took it in his grasp and smirked.

“ Very good, ████████. “ He praised, voice deep as an ocean floor.

_Hey, hold on a minute..._

She grinned from ear to ear as he folded the sheet and placed it in his pocket. He soon breathed a sigh of smoke, a hand reaching to pet her head as he lowered to one knee. “ I’ve been doing some thinking, ████████. “ He spoke lowly.

_What is my name?_

“ What do you want to be when you grow up? “

“ ..  .-- .- -. -  - --- -... .  .- -. .- .-. - .. ... - “

_Is that… my voice..?_

The man appeared disappointed, but hid his chagrin behind a gentle smile. “ You’ve always been such a gentle soul—just like ████ ██████. “

_Just like_ who?

“ Maybe, this life isn’t cut out for you. “

_Wait, what—_

Rough hands wrapped around her neck, thumbs painfully pressing inward.

_I can’t breathe. Fuck, I can’t_ breathe—!

Gentle little hands raised, shakily settling on the back of his. Dainty fingers slithered to try and pry his grip free, struggling to breathe while tears raced down her cheeks.

_It hurts, oh gods it HURTS—_

**SNAP!**

Stark white eyes shot open, body aching as she sat up and panted, sweat dripping down alabaster skin. She lifted her shaking hands, balling them into fists and back again. She’s _alive._ And it wasn’t until tears dripped onto her palms that she realized she was crying. Raising her head, she looked around the inside of the airship. The night sky was moving, meaning that _they_ were still moving, too. In that case, it must have been _Cinder’s_ turn to tend to the controls.

Which meant she was back to reality, which meant she was truly _alone._ She wasn’t in bed, with comforting arms wrapped around her frail form and shushing her strangled cries. There was no gentle hand rubbing her back or fingertips gently gliding to gather all her hair so she wouldn’t get _vomit_ everywhere when her nightmares made her sick. There was no soft voice telling her that she’s okay, she’s safe, he wouldn’t let _anything_ hurt her, that he loved her more than anything…

Slowly, she lowered herself back onto her side, curling around herself as she stared straight ahead. She made no move to wipe the tears away. Well, not until the clicking of Cinder’s heels approached, at least. She couldn’t show any weakness around her—none more than what she had _already_ displayed, at least.

“ We’re still far from Atlas, “ Cinder began, lowering herself beside Neo, “ but we _have_ made significant progress. Perhaps a day more and we should be there. “ Neo nodded, taking a deep breath before rising to her feet making her way to the pilot’s chambers, ignorant of the devilish smirk slowly spreading across the Fall Maiden’s lips.

This was going to be _far_ too easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooF sorry for the delay!! school's been kicking my ass ;v;  
> thank u guys so much for the feedback though!! i appreciate it!!  
> also, sorry neo's section's so short;; i couldn't really think of anything besides the dream sequence lmao

**Author's Note:**

> i had some ideas floating around for my first moments fic, but this one was just too gOOD to stall on. so, this happened! 
> 
> feedback & constructive criticism is appreciated! thank you for reading!


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